A New Recruit
by Loyal Integra Fanboy
Summary: One shot. A poor policeman has an experience with the Hellsing Organisation he'll not soon forget...


A little one-shot about Hellsing's new recruitment policies.

New Recruit

So there I was, standing to attention in front of this big desk in a huge office. The old geezer told me to stand and wait for her to arrive and see to me. He said I had to call her 'Sir.' I don't know why that was, but, given the day I'd had, I was in no mood to question things. Besides, he and his people had just saved my life, I guess, though at the time I couldn't quite grasp what had happened to me.

The door creaked open behind me and I heard graceful footsteps behind me. A tall, blonde woman in a trouser suit walked past me and set herself behind the desk. She paid no attention to me as she flicked her hair behind her shoulders, lit up a cigar, and plopped a large file on the desk. In the meantime I couldn't help noticing how young she was, yet she seemed to be in a very regal position at this place. Finally she looked up at me. I straightened up as she spoke.

'Understand, Mr. Crane,' she said an a calm and sultry voice, 'that you are now legally dead.'

I nodded, though I wasn't quite sure why.

'It is regrettable, but I'm afraid we can't afford to let you walk away from this place, knowing what you know.'

I felt a little fearful for my life. It was starting to sound like an ominous threat.

'Please understand, this is not something we do that often – in fact, you are the first for a long time.'

That made me feel _so_ much better.

'Tonight, you died in that house. In a few days a funeral will be held for you. You must not contact your family, friends, or other acquaintances again. This is a secret operation, Mr Crane, and I intend to keep it that way.'

Let's start at the beginning. It was a Saturday night. November 12th it was. The nation was getting settled in front of the TV for a night of Jim Davidson and the National Lottery, while I was on the night watch. See, I was a copper. A good old fashoned, honest-to-goodness Constable. I'd only been in the force a couple of years, but already the job was getting dull. This particular night I'd just finished seeing to a call involving a kid caught shoplifting at the Happy Shopper. That was about as exciting as it bloody well got. Every copper who is new on the beat prays for the first exciting call they get, and I was yet to get one. Maybe, I thought to myself, one day I'll get to be the hero. Perhaps I'll stop a driver for having a busted indicator, then discover he's trafficking £1 million worth of heroine; or save a shop full of people from an armed robber – on my lunch break – or something. Anything.

Well that call just happened to be on that very night.

'I'm on my way,' I announced as heroically as I could as I picked up the call and dived into the car. It was a disturbance at a house, possibly a break in. Great, I thought, maybe a burglar. I'll catch him, you'll see, and I'll be hero of the month. Ha, just you wait and see.

When I arrived at the house all was terribly quiet. There were no lights on, no signs of movement.

'I 'eard 'em movin' around in there…' said an elderly woman, who had somehow managed to sneak up behind me and announce herself in a shrill, East-London lilt. I wheeled around, half startled by the old bat.

'sorry?'

'I 'eard somethin' in there, didn't I? Only, I was worried because the Jonsons are ever such a quiet lot, y'know, keep 'emselves to 'emselves…'

'Thank you, madam,' I said abruptly, 'That'll be all, now please return to your home.'

I tried to peer in through the window, but it seemed to have been tinted, for some reason. When I tried the front door, I was surprised to see it was ajar. Funny is that, because, normally burglars break in the back.

Gallantly I stepped inside, one hand posed over my Casco baton, ready to give anything that came at me a good wallop on the head.

Squelch. The carpet was wet, and in the darkness I had no idea what it could have been. I felt my way to the living room, and fumbled around for the light switch. I found it and flicked it. I was startled to see that the lights actually worked. I was terrified by what the light revealed.

Blood. Every where, nothing but blood. It was in the carpet, on the walls, over the curtains, the furniture- even covering the window, which was the 'tinting' I'd spotted on the out side.

After a brief vomit, I summoned up the courage to go deeper into the house. At the back of the living room was a door. It lead to the kitchen, and was closed. I heard quiet murmurs behind the door, like someone in a bit of pain. Catiously I went in, and saw the elderly frame of Mr Jonson, I could only assume, lying in a blood heap on the kitchen floor. He reached out to me with a doleful expression on his face. I felt awful for him. He had injuries all over himself, his clothes saturated with blood, yet he still had the strength in him to reach out at me for help. I immediately radioed in for an ambulance.

I knelt beside the poor old bastard. 'It'll be okay, sir. An ambulance is on it's way, you'll be taken care of soon.' I reassured him. He put his hands behind my neck and pulled me nearer to him. I couldn't help noticing how strong he was. I assumed he wanted to whisper in me ear. But as he puled me, his face contorted and he hissed menacingly. He opened his mouth and tried to bite me. I wrestled free from him before he could, but suddenly he began to claw his way across the floor twoard me, grabbing my legs, and pulling me to the floor!

I don't know what came over me, but suddenly I thought to myself that for some reason, I had more to fear from this old man than any burglar. I flicked out my baton and walloped him over the head. He lay still. I clambered up to my feel, ran out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind me. I leant against it for a bit, my heart going like the clappers, trying to figure out what the Hell was going on.

Suddenly the door shattered behind me and a pair of arms burst through, grabbing me tightly, pulling me back. I struggled to escape their grasp, and clubbed the attacker several times over the head with my baton. After the red mist subsided I could clearly see that my assailant was Mr Jonson.

I heard the front door crash in as a man rushed in. 'What's going on?' he demanded. When he saw me he rushed over. 'Are you alright, constable?'

'I'm fine… at least I think so, anyway.'

'Good. What happened?'

'I really don't know,' I said, dazed. 'who are you?'

'Uh? Oh, I live here. I'm Mr Jonson.'

The man was about thirty years of age, yet the décor (if not for the blood) and furniture looked like it belonged to someone much older. It didn't fit.

'I… was attacked. The suspect is in the kitchen. I think he's dead.'

'Oh, bloody Hell!' said the young Mr Jonson, as he peered at the bloody corpse in the kitchen. 'That's hideous!'

I told him 'there's an ambulance coming soon.'

'Oh, okay. Thank you again constable.'

'Don't mention it,' I said.

The young Mr Jonson came toward me slowly.

'Such a fine, upstanding man you must be,' he said, 'to bravely burst in and catch the crook.'

'Just one thing,' I said uneasily, 'Uh, I don't know where all this blood came from. It's everywhere.'

He didn't look away from me, and still came toward me slowly, 'Oh, no matter. I'm sure it'll all be cleared up in time. But first…' he looked at me with a strange glint in his eye, and I could have sworn they were suddenly red. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and pinned me against the wall. 'I'm sorry, constable,' he said menacingly, 'nothing personal – it's just I must kill you now!'

Well I think I would be insulting your intelligence if I said the wasn't really Mr Jonson. I'd just clubbed Mr Jonson's reanimated corpse to death in the kitchen. I think I'd also be insulting your intelligence if I told you what he really was. And there he was, about to sink his teeth into my neck. At that instant I heard the window shatter, and the young 'Mr Jonson's' head jerked back. He released me and fell to the floor, turning to dust instantly.

I heard someone shouting for me to some out. I burst out of the house and surrendered on the spot – to three large black vans, twenty soldiers and one figure who signalled to three people hoses. On the signal they drenched me from head to toe.

'Holy water,' explained the man, a Sergeant of some regiment I didn't recognise. 'Just in case.'

The scene around me was astounding. There were dozens of these people, scrambling into the house, I heard orders being shouted back and forth about 'cleanup'. Another soldier was dispersing crowds claiming that there was a chemical spill at the house and everyone was safe, and must return to their homes.

At this point I fainted.

The next thing I remember is lying in the back of a truck speeding headlong across some really bumpy roads. We sure weren't heading in to the city. Some old fella was looking at me with a slither of a smile.

'Sir Integra will see you in her office.' He said.

So I had not only survived a vicous vampire and ghoul attack, I was also saved by The Hellsing Organisation. And now I stood in front of this desk, early on a Sunday morning, listening to this woman telling me that I don't exist anymore.

'Are you listening to me, Mr Crane?' she said. I wasn't listening.

'Sorry?'

'I said, with times being like they are for us, I would like to give you a position in the Hellsing special unit.'

'Uh, great!' I said, vaguely.

'Like I said, this is not something we make a habit of doing, but in light of what you saw last night I can't take the chance of exposing our Organisation any further.'

She extended a slender hand out to me across the desk. I took it, and was surprised by her firm grip. She gave the faintest impression of a smile.

'Welcome to the Hellsing Organisation.' She said.


End file.
